


Oh, the Fun to be Had at a High School Reunion

by BlackDog9314



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Business Owner Castiel, Coming Untouched, Destiel - Freeform, First Time Together, I tried to just do sex and feelings happened, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Memories, Nice guy Dean, Porn with Feelings, Profound Bond, Punk Castiel, School Reunion, Smut, Tattooed Castiel, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314/pseuds/BlackDog9314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak attends his 10-year class reunion only to run into Dean Winchester, who apparently still remembers him even though they never spoke in the few classes they had together.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, the Fun to be Had at a High School Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote my first ever porn ficlet. I'm nervous about posting it, and would appreciate comments of any kind :) thank you.

As far as high school reunions went, Castiel supposed this wasn't too terrible. The hotel in which it was being held was only a little over low-range quality, but tastefully decorated. The colors of John T. Smith High, white and gold, were draped from one end of the high ceiling to the other in twisted crepe strands, and the round tables situated every few feet around the edges of the ballroom were covered with white linen and gold ribbon. The lighting was dusky, yellow and soft and aiming for the lofty goal of what Castiel took to be romance. With a pang at the thought he looked down at his half-empty glass of champagne and seriously debated chugging the rest of it in one go.

It was Castiel's 10-year class reunion, and he was questioning whether or not it had been a good idea to come at all. The email had said the reunion would host an open bar, he reminded himself. That had been why.

But it hadn't been the original reason, sadly.

Originally Castiel had signed up with a plus-one, wanting in some juvenile way to prove that he had done well and was happy (now).

That certainly wasn't true at this particular point in time, however.

Yes, it was still true that Castiel was the owner of an extremely successful restaurant a few towns over and frankly not even close to wanting for money, but his aforementioned plus-one had walked out the door only two weeks previous.

Castiel gripped the fluted glass a little more tightly in his hand and took another healthy sip of the remaining alcohol in it. He told himself that he was going to finish his drink and get the hell out of there. Coming without Balthazar had been a bad idea; it didn't matter how expensive Castiel's haircut was or how nice his clothes or how well his full-sleeve tattoos were hidden by them. Castiel still felt he would always be the poor, punk fag who smoked pot behind the bleachers when he was in the presence of anyone he'd gone to school with.

Around Castiel his former classmates seemed to be mingling pretty easily with one another, their vaguely familiar faces and hair colors swirling together as Castiel tried to keep anyone from noticing him. He was standing alone near one of the tables by the door, his head slightly bowed and his feet shifting restlessly. So far he'd been lucky and had not been accosted by anyone from his past, and his champagne was almost gone.

His luck changed in under a minute.

Castiel gasped as someone was playfully pushed from the ballroom floor and literally right into him. His champagne glass was knocked to the side and half of what was left in it splashed onto his nice button-down. The man who had bumped into him immediately turned around with his hands out, grasping Castiel's shoulders and preventing them both from slumping back against the wall right before it happened. His face was apologetic, and Castiel found himself openly staring once he realized who it was.

_Dean Winchester._

“...Cas?” Dean's voice was slightly tremulous, his full lips parted in surprise and his green eyes wide.

“You know my name?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and Castiel heard with an internal wince how bitter he sounded.

Dean looked almost offended. “Of course, man. We had precal together senior year, remember?”

Castiel blinked at him. _He remembered that_?

“Yes...I remember. I just didn't think we ever talked in that class.” Castiel inwardly cursed himself for sounding so accusatory. Yes, Dean had been one of the more popular students at Smith High, but he had also been one of the nicest. Castiel had never feared harsh words or unwarranted hits when he'd been around Dean Winchester, which wasn't something he could say for many of the guy's friends.

“We didn't, I just, y'know, always noticed you...” Dean's voice trailed off and he began to blush furiously. “Look, I'm sorry, that sounded weird. I'm also sorry I kinda crashed into you.” He scratched the nape of his neck self-consciously and lowered his eyes.

“It's okay, though you did also kind of spill my drink,” Castiel gave Dean a tentative smile, not wanting him to feel bad.

“Good thing they're free, huh?” Dean smiled an almost cocky smile, then, a familiar one Castiel recognized from their youth.

Castiel opened his mouth to respond right before Dean spoke again, unknowingly cutting him off.

“Oh, hey! I helped organized this gig, and it said you had a plus-one. Where are they?” Dean looked so kind as he asked, his expression so open and polite, that it cut Castiel a little to know he would have to make him feel uncomfortable if he explained that he'd ended up coming alone.

So, he didn't.

“Balthazar couldn't make it, he's out of the state,” Castiel said easily. “His work scheduled him for a trip at the last minute.”

“Aw, that's annoying," Dean said sympathetically. "Are you guys...?”

“Serious? Well, I guess so. I mean, I _was_ going to have him come to my reunion,” Castiel could actually _feel_ the hole he was digging himself into as he spoke.

Though Castiel could have sworn Dean looked a little disappointed, he continued to nod politely anyway.

“That's a shame, I would have liked to see who you ended up with,” Dean said.

Those words coming from literally anyone else at the reunion would have been an insult, an implied taunt, but Castiel was surprised (for the second time that night) to see that Dean looked completely sincere when he said them.

_God, he's sweet. Was he always this sweet?_

Castiel decided then that his night didn't have to be all bad.

“Do you want to get me a non-spilled drink?” he asked Dean jokingly. “We could catch up a little.”

Castiel was half-expecting Dean to tell him no, that he had a wife to attend to or some asshole football buddy to keep company, but Dean nodded immediately, his smile returning as he walked with Castiel to the bar. He ordered them both a beer, and Castiel followed him to a table nearby where they sat down next to one another.

“So, Cas,” Dean started off after taking a sip of his Shiner, “You look different, man. I almost didn't recognize you.” He gestured to Castiel's face, alluding to the numerous facial piercings Castiel had sported as a teen.

Castiel laughed, “Yes, they sort of came out one after the other, I suppose. The eyebrow was the first to go.”

“And the last?” Dean asked.

“The labret," Castiel responded.

“You pulled 'em off, though, man. And the eyeliner, too,” Dean laughed at himself and started blushing again, looking down into his beer.

But Castiel was intrigued, “You really remember that?”

Dean nodded slowly, “Uh, yeah. I always liked that kinda thing, never had the guts to get anything done myself. You were just cool, man. You didn't give a fuck, I guess I—I wish I'd been brave like that.”

Castiel was blown away. He had cared so intensely, had been so insecure and so self-conscious. He had done it his own way, yes, but it was obvious to him now that his piercings and his chains and his black band tees had been to keep people from judging him by conventional standards, by which he feared he would be found lacking.

“You thought I was brave?” He couldn't stop himself from asking.

“Yeah. You don't think you were?” Dean was incredulous.

“No, Dean. I just hated everything.” It was Castiel's turn to laugh, and he did, so hard he felt tears well in his eyes.

“It did you well, man. What're you doin' now, in the restaurant business, right?” Dean asked.

Castiel's mouth dropped open, “You know about Celia's?”

“I may have...looked you up a couple weeks ago.” Dean looked shy.

“Well, you're right. I'm a restaurateur now. May I ask what it is you do?”

Dean became enthusiastic, “I restore classic cars with my uncle, Bobby Singer...”

Castiel and Dean spent the next two hours drinking a few more beers and talking both about their current lives (“I tell you what, there are few things harder than having to tell your head chef that they've actually been making the soup du jour with half of the wrong ingredients all day—don't laugh! She was pregnant and terrifying! I was afraid to tell her...”) and their shared past (“Dude, I still can't believe you did that! Michael wouldn't say shit but we all still knew it was you who put the itching powder in his jockstrap. I mean, it did keep him from shit-talking you anymore...”).

In the hours they had been talking and racking up Shiner Bock bottles Dean and Castiel had moved steadily closer together in their seats, to the point that now their knees were lightly touching beneath the table linens.

Castiel, for his part, was tipsy. Though he was no lightweight, he and Dean had both put away about three beers apiece, and he had forgotten to grab dinner before driving to the reunion. But he was almost a little too good at acting as though he wasn't feeling a thing, luckily, and he didn't think Dean had noticed.

Castiel was staring at Dean longer than he should, though, he knew that. That was probably a giveaway that he wasn't exactly sober, but Dean didn't seem to mind. If anything, he was staring back, his high cheekbones pink under his freckles now.

Really, how was Castiel supposed to _not_ stare when Dean had a face like that? Truly, it was amazing anyone managed to form complete sentences around the guy, the way Castiel saw it. Dean had movie star looks and was still down-to-earth. It took a unique person to be both, in Castiel's experience.

Dean cleared his throat as he and Castiel smiled at each other, his expression then turning a little sad.

“Listen, Cas, I think I should go.”

“What? Why? Are you alright?” Castiel could hear the disappointment in his voice, almost shamefully obvious.

Dean sighed a slow sigh, thinking for a while before he responded, “I just—I liked you in high school, okay? And I didn't do anything about it, and I _knew_ I wasn't gonna be able to tonight either when I saw the plus-one check by your name, but I still—" Dean cut himself off. "You know, it's fine. I'm glad you have someone committed to you. You deserve it, Cas.” And with that, Dean stood up, smiling a last, strained smile, and began walking towards the ballroom exit.

Castiel was in shock for a moment, sitting dumbly at the table for perhaps a minute too long before he stood up, too. He went out the same door that Dean had disappeared through, squinting in the dark of the parking lot. He almost shed a tear of relief when he saw Dean still there, leaning up against a black monster of a car and smoking a cigarette.

Castiel briskly walked over to him, stopping right before he invaded Dean's personal space, now more distant than they'd been at the table. Dean said nothing, he just continued smoking his Marlboro Red while he looked expectantly at Castiel.

Castiel spoke first this time, “I thought you were straight.”

“It's called heteroflexible; I googled that shit.” Dean smirked just a little.

Castiel knew the situation was inappropriate for it, but couldn't help but laugh at what Dean had said.

“Dean...” he felt his face flame a bright red at what he was about to confess, and he shuffled his feet before speaking, noting that Dean was paying close attention to him now.

“I don't have a plus-one. He left me.”

Dean put his cigarette out at that, stamping it under his boot as he said in disbelief, “Someone left _you_?”

“As hard as that may be for you to believe, yes. Balthazar left me. He wanted someone with more flexibility. Thought I let Celia's eat up my life,” Castiel's voice was the epitome of acerbity.

“That's bull, that restaurant is your baby now," Dean scoffed.

“I know, that's how I feel.”

“Why'd you lie, Cas?” Dean sounded hurt.

“I...I was embarrassed, Dean. I didn't want you to know that the person I thought I could trust left me,” Castiel sighed unhappily.

“Why are you telling me now, then?” Dean asked.

“Because...you should have asked me out in high school," Castiel said.

Dean blinked once, twice, and then a smile slowly made its way across his face.

He took a slow step towards Castiel, his hands reaching out for him almost doubtfully. When Castiel made no move to resist him, Dean closed the space between them, gently cupping Castiel's face in his calloused hands. They were only an inch or two apart, now, and Castiel felt as afraid as he did eager. He looked up at those bright green eyes, feeling Dean's breath warm on his lips, the almost-touching phantom sensation of their closeness.

It was Castiel who made the final move, letting his eyes slide closed and moving forward.

Dean's lips on his were soft and full, the hint of cigarette smoke and beer adding a dart of acridity to the kiss.

Castiel let his hands come to rest lightly upon Dean's taut sides, feeling his body heat beneath the softness of his plaid button-down.

Castiel abruptly realized that kissing Balthazar had been nothing compared to this. Dean tasted sweet and bitter all at once and felt like a tower against him, strong and unyielding. The both of them were now braced against the hearse-like black car.

Castiel let his hands wander a little, stroking Dean's sides as he had set out to do, and then the jut of his hipbones right above the barrier of his belt. Dean, for his part, kept his hands anchored to the edges of Castiel's face, rubbing little circles with his thumbs onto his stubbled cheeks, the gesture almost painfully tender and somehow entirely _Dean_.

After a few minutes more of the slow, hot kisses Castiel withdrew, the sounds of his breath suddenly audible again when not stolen between Dean's lips.

“Do you—do you want to—come to my place?” It was Dean who asked the question, his expression bashful again. It was clear that he was uncertain as to whether Castiel would say yes or not, and Castiel wanted to laugh at the thought, wanted to say, _How could I tell you no?_

But he didn't, he just nodded, and after a brief discussion they decided that Dean would drive them both as he was the less tipsy of the two, and that he'd return Castiel to his car in the hotel parking lot when they were finished talking.

They both climbed into Dean's car (of which Dean insisted on giving Castiel a full description of the make, model, year and famous people who had owned one before they could set off), and the drive to his place was short. Castiel thanked God for small miracles when they arrived only fifteen minutes or so after they'd departed.

Dean's apartment, Castiel saw after they'd parked, was one that was not nearly as nice as his own modestly middle-class home, but he didn't mind. In fact, he felt a sort of aching affection for Dean at the sight of the chipped paint on the door and the dirtied welcome mat.

He followed Dean inside, seeing quickly that the place, if not new and not respectable, was almost meticulously clean. As a restaurateur Castiel could respect that. Dean's living room was a little bare save for multiple, well-kempt framed posters of classic cars, and his bedroom was similar. Really, the only difference Castiel could see was that Dean's room contained a bed and a floor lamp.

Perhaps the two of them had plans to sit down and converse, originally, but upon seeing the bed they sank down onto it together without speaking. Castiel quickly straddled Dean and took the opportunity his advantage provided to trail kisses from Dean's full lips to his jaw to his neck, on which he lavished special attention. Dean caressed his back with trembling hands as Castiel traced the tendons of Dean's neck with his tongue.

Dean gently moved Castiel off a little later to sit up and strip himself of his plaid overshirt and wife-beater, and Castiel soon followed suit. Dean's chest and torso were as wonderful-looking as Castiel had assumed they would be. His tanned skin was unmarred by obvious blemishes save for those freckles which chased the contours of his limbs, and his musculature was defined but not unpleasantly bulky. Dean had a capable-looking body, a body used to hard work.

Castiel was so busy enjoying the view that he didn't realize Dean was doing the same, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the sight of Castiel's many colorful tattoos. Castiel looked at his own arms with Dean, taking in at the same time the familiar koi fish, the curling cerulean waves, the symbols and lyrics that permanently decorated his skin.

“Shit,” Dean's voice sounded almost awed, and he reached up to touch Castiel's arms, outlining the inked shapes and colors with a touch this side of too-delicate. After, he looked up at Castiel and their eyes locked, bottle-green crashing into ocean-blue, the message and its carrier seemingly meeting at last.

It was over, then, and Castiel flattened himself on top of Dean, their flushed chests touching. Castiel brushed his tongue against Dean's swollen lips, and Dean opened up to him, his breath coming more heavily at the entry.

Castiel reached down and palmed the curve of Dean's ribcage, and then the front of a thigh, not touching him where he most wanted it yet. Dean inhaled sharply and moved to touch the sides of Castiel's face again as he opened his legs and pressed himself against Castiel.

Castiel couldn't believe that he was actually getting hot and heavy with _Dean Winchester_. Whatever they did tonight, he wanted it to be good for Dean more than he cared about getting off.

Castiel kissed Dean while at the same time languidly touching the flesh of his bare torso, moving one hand to rest against Dean's belly or his side while the other rolled a nipple between a thumb and forefinger, alternating between mouthing at Dean's neck and his lips. He did this until Dean was openly gasping with every intake of breath and moving his hips to press them against Castiel's, who responded in kind. Both of them were obviously hard and seeking more friction, and Castiel was more turned-on than he'd been in a long, _long_ time.

But he needed to ask Dean something before he became swept away in the tide of his own lust.

Castiel drew back and mirrored his former classmate's earlier action as he took Dean's face in his hands, focusing the green-eyed gaze on himself again.

“Dean, what do you want?” He asked.

“I want you.” Dean's voice was a little stuttered, a little young-sounding.

“What do you want of me?” Castiel inquired.

Dean blushed, which was almost laughable considering the state they were in, “Can you—I want...” his voice trailed off, and Castiel leaned in and softly kissed him on the mouth.

“Do you want me to touch you, Dean?” Castiel's voice was barely more than a sigh.

Dean swallowed audibly, his eyes widening as he clarified, “I—I want more than touching, I want you to fuck me. Please. I know this is kinda fast, but...I don't need the frills.” Dean's voice had grown stronger by the end of the sentence.

Castiel, still having a hard time believing that someone so attractive and kind desired him, was only able to moan his approval at the words.

Dean brought his arms up and around Castiel's neck to pull him down for another deep kiss.

Shortly after that Castiel and Dean lost their jeans (or dress slacks, in Castiel's case), and upon freeing him from his boxers Castiel took Dean's hard cock in one hand, fisting it gently as he reveled in the heft of it in his palm; Dean felt perfect, thick and smooth and long enough that Castiel wondered if there was a chance he could convince Dean to do this with him again but with the roles reversed.

Castiel began kissing Dean more arduously than he'd dared to before, stroking him in time with rolls of his tongue between Dean's lips. After only a few minutes of that Dean impatiently reached a hand out to his left side and pulled from his bedside drawer a tube of lubricant and a few condoms, and Castiel took the hint and also the container when it was offered him, squeezing a fat drop of the stuff onto his fingers before replacing it on the nightstand.

Dean was breathing hard beneath Castiel, his arms above him with his hands gripping the headboard and his shaking thighs already parted. But before Castiel could move his slicked fingers down between his legs Dean shook his head and said, “Cas, I—I don't want you to think—I don't want this to be a one-time thing, okay?”

As Castiel looked down at Dean and heard his words he felt that aching affection again, the same emotion he'd experienced upon seeing Dean's sparse, lonely apartment.

“I don't want it to be, either, Dean.” Castiel leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, and after the other man had smiled and nodded his consent, Castiel reached between Dean's legs.

He could feel the heat coming off of Dean's skin in waves, and when he began to insert a finger into him, he did so slowly and carefully, all the while watching his face for signs of discomfort. When none came, Castiel began to slip the digit in and out, making himself wait another few minutes before adding a second finger. He began to look, then, for the spot inside of Dean that he knew had to be somewhere around—

“Fuck!” the word was torn from Dean's throat in a hoarse exhale, and Castiel knew that he'd found it. Dean re-positioned his hands from the headboard to Castiel's shoulders then, gripping him tightly as Castiel made sure his fingers hit the same spot with every push inside.

When Castiel added a third finger, Dean was already taut with sensation and closing his eyes to enjoy the onslaught.

It was almost ten minutes later that Dean's eyes snapped open, and he nodded firmly at Castiel's questioning gaze.

Rolling the condom on with steady fingers and pouring a healthy amount of slick onto himself, Castiel bent to kiss Dean deeply, wishing he could memorize the sweet taste of his mouth. Then, he nuzzled his nose against Dean's neck as he positioned himself against the dark pink furl, bracing himself against Dean's hips.

As Castiel began to breach Dean, he felt the other man tense around him. Although he didn't withdraw, he stopped momentarily, freeing one hand to stroke it lightly down Dean's arm. He asked softly, “Do you want me to stop, Dean?”

“It's just been a while, I'm fine,” Dean said almost immediately.

Castiel kissed Dean's forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his closed eyelids, everywhere he could reach as he waited for Dean to loosen around his cock.

When Dean's body had relaxed at last a few minutes later, his arms now looped almost childishly around Castiel's neck, he began to push forward again slowly. Dean let out a shuddering gasp below him, his eyes heavy-lidded.

"Oh, god," Dean whispered as Castiel penetrated him. "That's good."

Castiel's cock throbbed as he felt the heat of Dean's words on the shell of his ear. He was now fully sheathed, and his breath caught in his chest at the feeling of how tight the other man was, even when relaxed. The backs of Dean's thighs were pressed to Castiel's hipbones, and he waited an additional few minutes to allow Dean time to adjust before he eased almost all the way back out and slid into him a second time, then a third.

Castiel kept a slow, easy stroke, never having been one to fuck hard or brutally. The deep, unhurried thrust that he focused on maintaining was bordering on torturous for the both of them, as delicious as it was unsatisfying.

There was silence in the room save for Dean's whimpers and gasped curses, escalating in volume as Castiel found that spot inside of him with his dick and concentrated on hitting it every time he moved into him.

Dean dug his fingertips into the meat of Castiel's shoulders, his eyes wild, “Fuck, Cas, touch me—please, I can't—“

In response, Castiel instead grabbed the tube of lubricant still beside them on the bedside table and slathered more of it onto the slick, messy juncture where their bodies came together again and again, rewarded by the deep moan that fell from Dean's lips as he was able to fuck him harder and deeper. Castiel intensified his strokes with a formidable determination, finally giving in and letting loose into the pliant body wrapped around him now that he could tell Dean was close. He loved the way Dean moaned and thrashed beneath him as Castiel's cock dragged over that tender spot, his green eyes unfocused and his skin sheened with sweat.

Not five minutes later, Dean cried out once, a long, low sound laced through with a deep sigh, and he came hard. His release coated both of their chests, and his body spasmed around Castiel's cock, causing him to orgasm in turn.

Castiel was still breathing heavily a few minutes later from the exertion of the night as he rubbed his sweat-dampened face along the smooth plane of Dean's neck. Soon, though, he pulled out cautiously, throwing the used condom into the trash bin near the bed. He lay back down next to Dean after he'd assured himself he hadn't missed, feeling both as though he was floating or about to waste away, he'd come so hard.

 _I'd be pretty happy either way_.

Dean turned to face Castiel and sleepily wrapped his arms around him the way he seemed wont to, uncaring of the sweat and ejaculate still drying between them. Castiel held Dean tightly in return, stroking his gold, sweat-soaked hair with numb fingers as the other man mutely laid his head in the crook of Castiel's neck. His breath fluttered against Castiel's jaw, and he smiled to himself.

They fell asleep not long after, still wrapped in each other's arms and with the bedroom lamp still on.

But right before he drifted off, still hopelessly intertwined with Dean, Castiel heard him murmur, his voice drowsy, “Always wanted you like this, even when you were pissed off and hated everything.”

*

The following morning, when Castiel woke up to Dean kissing each of the tattoos on his arms, he could not find it in himself to miss Balth anymore.

 


End file.
